


The Coming of Spring

by Canarii



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Family, Female Protagonist, Gen, POV Female Character, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:16:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canarii/pseuds/Canarii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dream, a vision, a snowy sky. The wolves will come again, and the North remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Coming of Spring

With her life seeping away red into the snow, Arya dreams.

True dreams, of days to come, days she was sure she would never see. Even in the freeze of winter, snow still falling in sullen flakes over her, her fever rages beneath her skin. The poison in her blood courseing from a wound she'd been unable to keep from festering. She'd walked as far as she could, through an endless white world, until ground had spun up to meet her and her legs moved no more. And beneath her burning eyelids she saw.

She saw Robb's carved stone face, the Young Wolf placed beside his father in the crypts, above, Winterfell sprung up anew, stone by stone like a weed in spring.

She saw Jon Snow, her truest brother despite name, tall and dark at the head of the Watch. His beard was streaked with premature gray, the Wall crested behind him, and he held fire in his hands. In her dream, she stands in the snow before him, industinguishable from the landscape she law in now, and reaches for him, but the picture melted away.

She sees Sansa, a regal lady with the beauty of a queen, but there was ice in her eyes that betrayed her blood. She holds a tiny girl on her knee, a baby really, no more than two years of age. The child was fair and dark, with no evidence of it's grandmother's Tully blood that ran so strongly in most of Arya's siblings. It is only the first of Sansa's brood, and Arya knows in her heart that her beautiful sister will one day love, marry, and have children, just as surely as she knows she never will.

She sees Rickon, a man grown, and grown tall, taller than their lord father had been. His hair was long and wild, tumbling half tied past his shoulders, eyes the same feral green as those of the massive black wolf that lurked at his side. He stands by a sea she doesn't know, and looks out upon the water with a little boy's smile.

And then Bran, sweet Bran who she'd climbed and played with as a child. Broad of shoulder and well bearded, he sits on a boulder like upon a throne and lifts wrist to greet the raven that alights on his forearm.

Finally, the thing that had been her mother traced grey dead fingers against the bark of the heart tree, before laying down among it's roots to greet long ago deserved finality. And then her minds eye moves beyond her blood, and visions flash before her eyes of roiling seas, tears falling onto bloody ruined scales, a child with no voice, a weirwood burning, things with blue blue eyes and an icy sword, and a huge grey shewolf nudges a pup from shadow into light.

When Arya opens her eyes, her fever has broken, and she glimpses above her, for the first time in years, a glimpse of sun.


End file.
